To Heart and Home
by AMirroredImage
Summary: A wintry storm, a warm cloak, and some brotherly love. When sickness plagues Ealdor, Arthur can't help but feel uneasy at letting Merlin go. Twoshot. Set between seasons 4 and 5. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

**To Heart and Home**

This little plot bunny hit me a few days ago, so I had to get it down. I figured I'd share it with you guys, but bear with me, this is my first oneshot.

And for those of you reading Of Enemies and Allies: no worries, I will be updating sometime tomorrow. But in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this.

THH is set after season 4, in the three years before season 5.

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><p><em>"Just know you're not alone<em>  
><em> 'Cause I'm gonna make this place your home."<em>

_"Home" -Phillip Phillips_

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><p>Arthur rushed down the courtyard steps, his head bent low beneath the heavy woolen hood in an attempt to keep the swirling snow from his face. It was just past dawn, though you wouldn't know it from looking at the sky. The sun was lost beneath a thick blanket of clouds and heavily falling snow. It was cold, unbearably windy, and the snow made it impossible to see.<p>

Not even the castle staff would be caught outside in this weather. The castle was already covered in a thick layer of white, and the unrelenting clouds promised many more inches to come.

Arthur would have liked nothing better than to stay in his nice, warm, comfortable chambers, snuggled under the covers with Guinevere. But his manservant had other ideas.

Two days ago, Merlin had received a letter from one of the villagers of Ealdor, telling him that his mother—Hunith—was sick. Apparently, the entire village had a bad outbreak of a virus, which was spreading rapidly in the cold weather. Knowing that Merlin lived with the Court Physician, the writer of the letter had requested that Gaius come to treat the spreading illness.

Now a week from the Yule celebrations, Camelot was trapped inside by the wintry storm. It would be impossible for someone as old as Gaius to make the trip over Camelot's borders into Essetir.

Which was why, this morning, Arthur had not been woken up by Merlin.

After it was confirmed that the weather would be too much for Gaius, Merlin had announced that he would be making the trip. He had asked Arthur for the time off, yesterday. The king had refused, at first. He did not want Merlin traveling in weather that even hardened knights would find difficult. His manservant was practically skin and bones as it was, he didn't need to be throwing himself into a journey that would only lead to his death.

But Merlin was persistent. He claimed that he would quit and leave Camelot, if it came down to it; he needed to be there for his mother. Besides, he was the best candidate. Living with the Court Physician had given him all necessary knowledge to treat the people of Ealdor. And, if it came down to it, the secret warlock could always use magic.

The king was reluctant to admit it, but he had noticed his friend's growing skill in the physician's field, on their hunting trips and patrols. Arthur finally gave in—quite awkwardly and to the slight embarrassment of the royal—after all his concerns had been voiced. He gave Merlin three weeks off, promising to come after him if he hadn't returned in that time. He also pulled the promise from Merlin to write, by way of bird, once the storm had let up.

His clumsy manservant had thanked him, giving the king his wide, signature grin before leaving to finish his chores.

He did not, however, tell Arthur that he would be leaving the next day.

That piece of information, the king would find out through Guinevere's maidservant.

He sent a silent thanks to the gods for his wife's internal clock. The habit of rising early with the rest of the servants could not be completely erased from her life, even after a few years of being queen. So, when the young king had been woken by the maidservant's high voice, telling Gwen that George would be the one to wake the king, and that Merlin was getting ready to depart, Arthur was quite irritated. Not only because he forced himself to get up early, but also because he was doing it for his fool of a manservant, who hadn't bothered to say goodbye. A voice in the back of his mind also whispered that Merlin may never return, and the last thing the king had said to his friend was something about washing his laundry. But he quickly shook off the thought. Merlin would return; he always did.

But, Arthur did not want their parting conversation to be about his dirty socks. At least, that was what he told himself was the only reason, in order to venture out into the freezing temperatures of the courtyard.

As he approached the location where he knew the stables to be, Arthur was able to see a candlelit outline of the double doors. He hastened his steps, picking his feet up as his ankles sunk into the white powder; the crunching of snow lost in the loud wind.

It was this same wind that fought against the king as he pulled at the door. He grumbled under his breath. With another great tug, Arthur succeeded it opening the door. He quickly pulled it back in place, careful not to let it slam shut and disturb the horses.

Arthur shook the snow from his cloak, pushing back the hood. He looked around the deserted stables, the low candlelight casting shadows on the sleeping horses. The young king walked to his right, through a few archways that divided the sections of stalls. He followed the familiar path to where his horses where stabled, knowing that was where Merlin's horse, Lottie, was as well. He approached those stalls slowly, not quite ready to announce his presence.

He spotted his servant, dressed in his usual leather jacket and neckerchief—and a few shirts, if the bulky appearance of his chest was anything to go by—and talking to his horse. _Such a girl_, Arthur thought with a smile.

"…at's a good girl, Lottie." Merlin murmured to the mare, his back to Arthur's location. He grabbed the last bag from the floor, tying it onto the saddle. "Now we're all ready. You can handle a little storm, can't you, girl?" The secret warlock grabbed Lottie's bridle and brushed a hand lovingly down her forehead.

The horse snorted, blowing Merlin's hair back and pushing her snout into his face.

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad outside." He laughed.

Lottie stomped her front foot on the dirt floor and shook her head.

"You're overreacting, it's only a little snow." He ran his hand down the side of the horse's neck, "Don't tell me you're scared of that?"

The mare whinnied, swinging her head playfully into Merlin's chest.

"Ok, ok. I'm sorry I insulted your character."

Arthur watched the scene with amusement. He hoped that by now his friend knew that the horse really couldn't understand what he was saying.

"Now, it's time to go. Don't worry, it'll only be a few weeks; we'll be home before you know it."

Arthur's heart warmed at the comment. Merlin was leaving for his birthplace, but had called Camelot his home. He remembered asking his friend why he'd left Ealdor, a long time ago, when they had gone to the small town in order to fend off Kanen and his men.

"_Why'd you leave?"_

"_Things just… changed." _

"_How? Come on, stop pretending to be interesting. Tell me."_

"_I just didn't fit in anymore. I wanted to find somewhere that I did."_

"_Had any luck?"_

"_I'm not sure yet."_

Arthur hoped that that word—_home_—meant that Merlin had finally found his place. That he had found where he fit in—in Camelot.

His mind returned to the present as he watched Merlin grab Lottie's reins, reading her to leave the stall. He let out a cough, and Merlin froze.

The warlock turned around, his eyes quickly finding Arthur, leaning against the doorframe. He smiled, "Arthur."

"Merlin."

"It's a bit early for you to be up, isn't it?"

"Yes, well, George actually knows how to be on time to wake his king," the royal tilted his head, "he doesn't laze about like you."

Merlin simply huffed in response, but both men knew the truth.

Arthur would in fact still be sleeping, regardless of which servant tended to him. It was barely dawn and the only people scurrying about the castle at this time were the servants, and the guards on duty.

"Don't worry, I'll be back before you know it."

"Oh, yes, I'll be eagerly waiting for your return. I love having partially clean chambers." The sarcastic tone fighting for dominance with the king's jovial, and yet slightly concerned gaze.

"Be honest, you'll miss me. Your life is too quiet without me."

"Miss the incessant chatter and disrespectful attitude?—of course; whatever you say, Merlin."

The warlock's infectious grin caused Arthur to smile. They stood in silence for a moment, memorizing the way the other looked, and thinking of the three weeks they'd be apart. The king was reminded of the brass-loving servant he'd have to deal with while Merlin was away, and the smile quickly dropped off his face.

Lottie stomped her foot.

"Well, I guess I'd better be going." Merlin patted the mare's head.

Arthur hummed, backing out of the arch as his servant lead his horse down the hall.

When they reached the entrance, the king held out his hand. Merlin stared at it a moment before reaching forward, grasping his friend's arm in a bond of brotherhood.

"Good luck. Guinevere asked me to give you this. It's a letter for your mother—she sends her love." Arthur reached inside his cloak, pulling out a folded piece of paper with the Pendragon seal. He smiled at the thought of Hunith and her tough, but kind spirit. His wife was a close friend to Merlin's mother, after she took her in during her exile.

"Thank you, Sire. I'm sure she'll appreciate it." With one last smile he turned to go, pulling Lottie with him. As he approached the door, Merlin shivered at the draft blowing through the gap between the doors.

Arthur frowned at the movement. He looked down at his own, thick, insulated cloak.

"Merlin." The servant turned, his vision suddenly going dark as a large piece of fabric landed on his head. He let out an indignant huff before pulling the offending cloth from his face.

He studied it. It was a simple gray cloak, made of warm wool.

"What—" He stared at Arthur in confusion before realizing that the king now stood behind him, without a cloak.

"Keep it, for the journey. I don't need you freezing to death in the middle of the forest." He joked, but his mind quickly played the image of Merlin shivering, frozen by the Dorocha.

"Arthur, I can't—"

"You can." He stated firmly.

They stared at each other for a moment. Eventually Merlin let out a sigh, accepting that he had lost the argument. He pulled the cloak over his shoulders, clasping it firmly at the base of his neck.

"Thank you."

Arthur nodded. "Now go on. And stay out of trouble, Merlin."

A wide grin lit up his face, "Of course, Sire."

The warlock winked and pulled up the hood.

Arthur stayed in the doorway, watching Merlin as he mounted Lottie and pushed her into a trot. He had a strange sense of foreboding at the thought of the next three weeks. Somehow, he knew it would be much longer than that until he saw his friend again.

"Safe travels, old friend." He whispered as his lean manservant disappeared from the courtyard.

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><p>AN:<p>

So, what'd you think?

I have ideas for a possible chapter 2, but I am undecided on whether to continue, or just leave it. I guess it depends on you guys—so let me know! Reviews are always appreciated :)

In case you were wondering, the italicized quote is from The Moment of Truth (1x10).

Until next time,

Mirror


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you SO much for all your responses, your feedback was overwhelming. I'm so glad you liked it!

Well, here it is—enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

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><p>"If you get lost, you can always be found.<p>

Just know you're not alone."

"Home" –Phillip Phillips

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><p>Although he was worried, Arthur put the lack of a letter down to the weather. While the snow had stopped falling, there was still a thick amount of it on the ground, making travel difficult. And, knowing his manservant, Arthur knew Merlin would not inconvenience someone with sending a letter involving that kind of journey. The cold temperature and frosty wind also ruled out messenger birds.<p>

At least, those were the excuses Arthur told himself when three weeks came and went, and there was no sign of Merlin.

But then came the fourth week.

And the fifth.

Over a month had passed, and there was still no Merlin.

The fear for his manservant became a constant fixture in the young royal's thoughts. He was distracted in meetings, distant at feasts, and disorganized on the training field. And when he had free time, he was busy hiding from George—Merlin's _temporary_ replacement—because he made Arthur think of his servant even more than he already had been.

He could not get his friend off his mind.

And neither could the rest of the castle, or so it seemed to the king.

The staff went about their tasks with a noticeably subdued manner; the dogs warmly tucked away in the kennels had less of a bark, and even the snobby nobles lacked their occasional moments of humanity. The life that went on inside of the castle's stone walls was indeed missing Merlin's life-giving character—his laughter, his smile, his kind words… even his impudent banter with the king.

But it was the knights and royal couple that struggled the most.

Besides Arthur, there was Gwen. She visited Gaius often, helping the old physician with small tasks where she could, and finding comfort in the warm smile of Merlin's guardian. Gwen refused to hear any negative possibilities of what could have happened to Merlin, but her countenance always held a trace of worry and fear. At night, the royal couple would spend their evening by the fire, trying to distract themselves from the missing presence of their beloved friend.

Then there was Gwaine. He went to the tavern—nightly, of course—but he drank more, and his jokes were less jovial, and his smiles less genuine. Like his drinks, Gwaine's witty tales now only served the purpose of redirecting his thoughts.

Percival was quiet as always, but the friendly giant walked around with a smaller smile. Elyan and Leon became more involved with their castle duties, opting for more training sessions, meetings, and other activities that would be a good distraction from their missing friend, as well as provide the feeling that they'd done something worthwhile while waiting for news.

By the sixth week, the roads once again became safe to travel on, and Arthur wasted no time. Coming up with a shoddy excuse to satisfy the questions of the council, he left his queen and most trusted knights in charge, and then he was off to Ealdor. Although, try as he might, Arthur could not convince Gwaine to stay behind.

The two men arrived in Ealdor exactly five weeks and three days since Arthur had watched his manservant disappear from the courtyard (not that he was counting).

With the sun beginning its slow descent behind the mountains, Strength and Courage rode into the quiet village. The Pendragon was surprised at how many emotions he felt at seeing Merlin's hometown; memories of a young serving boy and a prattish prince, and the beginning a friendship that would last through the ages, rushed through his thoughts, making the king all the more anxious to find his friend.

Smoke curled from the chimneys of the houses, disrupting the still winter scene. No one was far from his or her hearth on a cold night like this.

The king led them through the village, his memory giving directions to Hunith's home, and his heart pulling him closer to his soul-brother.

Reaching their destination, Arthur dismounted, with Gwaine following close behind.

He only hesitated a moment before he brought his hand up and rapped his knuckles against the old wood, willing his heart to stop pounding in his chest. Seconds later, he heard movement from inside the small cottage, and then, the door opened, revealing a pale, tired Hunith.

On seeing the king at her doorstep, her face displayed the surprise and shock that Arthur expected; but, after the initial reaction, the woman's eyes flitted with an emotion the king couldn't place, and her features took on an expression of understanding—like she had expected his visit.

Recovering, she bowed quickly, "Sire—"

"Hunith," he interrupted, "please, just Arthur."

"Arthur," her lips melted into a gentle smile.

Behind him, Gwaine cleared his throat. The Pendragon shifted slightly, so he could see as the knight came forward, nodding his head in greeting. The king's brow furrowed as his usually flirtatious knight kept silent. In all honestly, he had expected Gwaine to make quite a fuss over meeting Merlin's mother for the first time, but instead of making a blush-worthy comment to the woman, his lips were clamped shut, eyes focusing on a farther target.

Arthur followed the knight's gaze, past Hunith, and into the little house. It was only then that he realized what was missing.

There was no sign of Merlin.

His eyes fell on the empty bed—the only bed in the house—if Arthur's memory served correct.

If Merlin was sick or unable to return to Camelot for some reason, there was no doubt in the king's mind that Hunith would have given her son the only bed. But if he wasn't here, and hadn't returned to Camelot…

His gaze found his gray cloak—the one he had given Merlin—draped across the foot of the bed. If Merlin was not in the house, and Arthur's cloak was not on his manservant's shoulders…

His heart stuttered in his chest.

No.

"Merlin… is he…" Arthur breathed, unable to continue the horrible thought.

Hunith followed his gaze, and understanding flooded her eyes. "Merlin is still with us, Arthur," she quickly assured her guests before ushering them inside. She then went over and stood by the fire, letting out a sigh before continuing, "He found a cure almost four weeks ago, and treated the entire village. But he overworked himself; I told him to rest, but he wouldn't listen to me. He was one of the last to fall ill."

At this information Gwaine, not knowing that Hunith only had the one bed, looked around the one-roomed home in confusion, his eyes trying to find his friend. "But where—"

"He is among friends," she spoke, "He became ill when most were already recovered, but at the time, I was still recovering and had no energy or extra bed to give him. Our close friends Mari and John offered to let him stay with them. They had been one of the first, and most serious cases—their daughter came very close to death before Merlin arrived."

Hunith pulled her gaze from the flickering flames of the hearth, "I was hesitant at first, but according to Merlin's research, the virus would only affect a person once before they built up an immunity, so I let him stay there. Merlin had been with them for a little under two weeks."

Arthur let out a sound between a relieved sigh, a worried chuckle, and a giddy laugh. Gwaine made a similar noise.

Since the day he and his knight had left Camelot, the king had been haunted with his worst fears. To hear that his manservant was alive was enough to wipe the anxiety from his mind.

Arthur's lips took on a relieved grin. He then opened his mouth to speak, but Hunith interrupted, already guessing what the king would say,

"I can take you to him, if you wish. I am sure you are tired from your journey, and hungry. We had a good harvest this year so there is plenty of food to go around at Mari and John's."

"That would be most welcome, thank you."

She smiled warmly, motioning for them to follow her. Hunith pulled a worn shawl from a hook by the door and wrapped it around her shoulders.

She picked up a candle, leading them outside and down a path between the houses. The wind tugged at her shawl, causing the woman to pull it tighter to her thin frame as Gwaine stepped up beside her, "Merlin's told me a lot about you, it's nice to finally meet you… although I wish it was on better circumstances."

"You must be Gwaine. I recognize you from his letters," Hunith glanced up at Gwaine before refocusing on the path ahead, "I will admit, from what Merlin has said on your character, I expected a different type of greeting—one with a little more _flair_." A smile graced her features, the candle in her hands lighting up her teasing gaze.

Gwaine let out a hearty peal of laughter, though it was somewhat subdued in volume by the wintry weather.

"He knows me too well," The roguish knight replied in what Arthur read as a form of fond amazement. Then, the knight looked down at Hunith with an interested gaze, adding randomly, in Arthur's opinion, "He has your smile."

"And his father's eyes," She murmured fondly.

Arthur's step faltered for a moment, the other two individuals oblivious to the king's hesitation. He knew very little of Merlin's father, except that he had left before Merlin was born, and that the boy had never met him. It had taken years—until Arthur had married Gwen—for his manservant to admit that his parents hadn't been married. It was strange to hear Hunith speak of him so openly, when Merlin rarely mentioned his childhood and growing up without a father. He imagined it couldn't have been easy, but that difficult past had done nothing to harm the warm personalities of Merlin and his mother. Arthur felt a swell of respect for his manservant at the thought of Merlin's sunny smile and kind heart.

The king was pulled out of his memories as they reached what Arthur assumed was their destination. He was proved correct as Hunith knocked quietly on the door before opening it. She peered inside, calling out, "John, Mari?"

Turning around, she motioned for them to come inside, and so Gwaine and Arthur filed in after her, the house's heat rushing to greet the newcomers.

Inside the home, a fire burned bright in the hearth, a pot hovering above and filling the room with a pleasant smell.

Arthur's gaze wandered around the space. A women about ten years younger than Hunith sat next to a bed, hovering over a figure hidden by a cocoon of blankets. From the other side of the room, a man had looked up at the sound of the door opening. Setting down his knife and a partially carved piece of wood, he rose to meet the new arrivals.

"Hunith," his voice was warm and quiet as he came forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. John looked behind his friend, his eyes widening in surprise upon seeing the Pendragon crest and Excalibur, for word of the king's legendary weapon had reached across the kingdom's borders.

"Your Highness—" he sputtered, bowing awkwardly.

Arthur quickly raised his hand, motioning for Mari to remain seated and to stop her rush to rise in the presence of the king. "Please, call me Arthur. Any friend of Merlin is a friend of mine."

John smiled, reaching out, though almost tentatively, to clasp Arthur's outstretched hand. He looked to the longhaired knight to Arthur's left, who offered his name, "Gwaine." He introduced himself as he too reached out a hand.

Greetings completed, Hunith walked towards Mari.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Better," Mari answered quietly, "The fever seems to be breaking, but the aches and chills are still present. He woke a few hours ago, but only for a moment."

"Has he eaten?"

"A little, but it was hours ago. We should probably get something in him soon. Supper's almost ready." The young woman stood, making room for the worried mother as she went over to the hearth.

Hunith nodded, coming to replace Mari and sit by her son's side. She ran a hand through his raven hair, pushing the sweaty locks from his face.

"Oh, my son."

Arthur had hesitated, not wanting to disturb Merlin's mother, but after a while, the urge to see his friend overcame his hesitation, and he came forward, bending down on Merlin's other side.

"He probably won't be up for very long," Hunith told him, "although he's past the worst of it, the sickness leaves lasting aches and tiredness." She smiled gently at the king, kneeling beside her only child, "I'm sure he'll be glad to see you."

The royal frowned at the thought of his cheerful manservant in pain, but his desire to prove to himself that Merlin was ok—that he was going to live, at least—was too strong to let the man sleep.

"Merlin." He called quietly. The sickly servant turned his face slightly, responding to the familiar voice, but his eyes remained hidden. The king took hold of Merlin's hand, and tried again, leaning a bit closer to the cot, "Let's have you lazy daisy," he whispered, his words filled with the longing to see his manservant's blue eyes again.

This time, Merlin let out a low moan, shifting slightly in the layers of blankets.

"That's it, Merlin, come on. Open your eyes."

Arthur could feel his Hunith's gaze boring into him, as she quietly watched the interaction between her son and the Pendragon. He felt awkward, showing this much emotion when there were other people in the room, but he couldn't help it. He had waited over six weeks to see the man who now lay ill before him.

The king continued to stare at Merlin, his breaths coming faster as he noticed the signs of someone returning to consciousness. His brow furrowed in confusion and pain, the manservant's lips parted,

"Ar-thur?" He whispered, his voice graveled and soft.

The king felt relief flow through him at the sound. He hadn't realized how much he missed the young man's voice.

"Yes you idiot, it's me," Arthur responded in his usual gruff and exasperated manner as Merlin's eyes fluttered open. They were bright with the receding fever, but Arthur didn't care. After worrying for weeks, his blue eyes met the kaleidoscopic gaze of his best friend.

He thought he'd never seen a better sight.

"What—" Merlin coughed, choking as his dry and disused voice tried to form a question. Hunith quickly leaned forward, pressing a cup to her son's lips. After a few swallows he cleared his throat and tried again. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think? I told you I'd drag your lazy arse back to Camelot if I didn't hear from you after three weeks—did you think I was joking?!" He responded with fond exasperation.

"Something like that." Merlin's lips quirked, his weak voice taking on a tone not unlike a proud mother lecturing her child, "You can't just go chasing after a servant because he didn't write for a few days, Sire."

"A few days? Merlin, it's been over a month." Arthur knew he had overemphasized the incredulity in his voice in his attempt to not let the emotions he'd been feeling the last few months seep into the words, but he couldn't help but try and save face. He was a king, after all, and kings do not display their feelings—especially to their idiot manservants.

"Hmm." Merlin smirked, his eyes telling Arthur he had heard every ounce of hidden concern in the king's words. "Must've lost a few days somewhere…"

The secret warlock shifted higher in the bed, wincing as he moved his aching body.

"Merlin…" Arthur warned before being cut off by the man in bed,

"I told you I could take care of myself."

"Yes, and look how well that turned out."

The words were exchanged quickly, and Arthur felt like he was coming up for air after a long dip underwater. He'd waited six weeks for a mock argument with his friend—and now that Merlin and his cheeky attitude were here with him again, he couldn't believe he'd lasted so long without such an exchange.

He huffed, fevered eyes shining, "Oh, I'm fine. It's not like I had the worst case—I'm just a bit tired. I'll be good as new before you know it."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that, all the way in Camelot?"

"You would've just had to wait." Merlin sighed, relaxing into the mattress beneath him, "You can't just leave the city whenever you want now. You're king. You've got responsibilities, Arthur."

"You're right," he answered seriously, fully focused on the young man before him, "I do. I'm responsible for my kingdom, my people—but most importantly—for my friends." Arthur let a small, genuine smile break through his earnest expression, "—And for foolish manservants who get sick a long way from home."

Their eyes met, both sets of blue orbs sparkling with contentment as the rest of the room's occupants faded from their minds.

Merlin's fevered eyes then drifted shut, but a smile remained on his lips.

"Home?" He asked quietly.

"Yes, home. Back where you belong."

Merlin nodded softly, a content hum emanating from his throat, "_Camelot_."

Arthur smiled, his whole being glowing with warmth. His thoughts returned to that overheard conversation in the stables—in what seemed like a lifetime ago—between Merlin and his horse. Merlin had finally found a place he belonged; a place he could consider home. It was not in Ealdor, with his mother, but with his friends—the knights, Gwen… and Arthur, in Camelot.

"Arthur?" A warm hand appeared on his shoulder. The king looked up, coming face to face with Hunith. He blinked, slightly confused; he didn't remember her leaving Merlin's other side. "Supper's ready."

He nodded, noticing the steaming bowl in her grasp. Placing Merlin's hand gently on the bed, he leaned back, letting Merlin's mother take over.

Hunith came forward as Merlin's eyes flickered open once again, "Come now, my boy, it's time to eat." She murmured.

Arthur watched, mind drifting aimlessly as Hunith worked on getting the broth from the bowl, and into her son. When finished, she helped her son back down into the covers, and Merlin once more drifted off to sleep.

He probably wouldn't wake for the rest of the night, but Arthur didn't mind. There would be plenty of time to talk later; Merlin's recovery was all that mattered now. His friend was on the mend, and when he was well, they would both be going home.

The young king regained his position by his manservant's bedside and brushed his hands through Merlin's raven hair. In that moment, he made a promise to himself—a promise that he hoped, above all others, he would never break. From this moment on, he would never allow Merlin to travel away from him, alone.

"Sleep well, old friend." Arthur whispered, his heart saying what he could not. _I'm here, you're not alone._

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><p>Well, there you have it. What'd you think? I hope it was everything you hoped it would be.<p>

Reviews are always appreciated :)

Mirror


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